


Blowin' In The Wind

by ghostofshe



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Gen, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 22:49:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5644690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofshe/pseuds/ghostofshe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sad song in the Mojave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blowin' In The Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Music

A steady wind makes it’s way across the Mojave, pushing sparse puffs of sand and dust across the darkness. Dark clouds envelope the stars, but the cold sliver of moon shines through, uselessly dim compared even to the dying embers of their campfire.  
  
Boone wakes to this darkness. The wind chilling him enough that he curls himself into a tight ball, trying to recapture his dreams. He can hear a soft hum in the distance, and he closes his eyes to it for a moment. As he listens, he can almost swear it sounds like words…

 _“How many roads must a man walk down…”_  
  
His eyes open again. Words. Definitely words. He sits up, sleep already fleeing from his body as he stretches his arms out in front of him and reaches instinctively for his rifle.  
  
_“How many seas must a white dove sail,_  
_before she sleeps in the sand?”_  
  
Not words. Singing. Strange thing to hear in the middle of the Mojave, during the deadest hours of the night. He pauses and looks towards the Courier’s bedroll. Empty. Despite the traces of grogginess, he’s able to put two and two together. He sets the rifle down and gets quietly to his feet.  
  
_“And how many times must the cannonballs fly_  
_before they’re forever banned?_  
 _The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind_  
 _The answer is blowin’ in the wind”_  
  
The song isn’t unfamiliar. The guards down at the Old Mormon Fort sing it from time to time, he’s come to associate it with them. Even caught Arcade humming it one day while he made Stimpaks. He glances around the area. About a hundred feet south of their campsite is a ruined building with nothing left but some of the wooden beams and a single crumbling wall. Boone starts towards it.  
  
_“Yes, and how many years can a mountain exist,_  
_before it is washed to the sea?”_  
  
The singing is clearer, louder, as he approaches. It’s a surprisingly deep tenor, doesn’t really seem right for the song. But it’s pleasant. The tone is steady, and the words seem to have more weight. He draws in closer, finally able to make out the top of the Courier’s shadow in the dim moonlight, creeping out just slightly from behind the wall. Even as a shadow, his tangled mass of hair makes him easy to spot.  
  
_“And how many years can some people exist_  
_before they’re allowed to be free?”_  
  
Boone approaches silently. Until he’s standing on the other side of the wall, wondering what has driven him to spy on the Courier in such a way. It’s uncharacteristic of him to be so nosy, and he knows that’s exactly why the Courier tends to travel with him more than the others. He’s the only person who never does this kind of thing. Yet here he stands. As bad as the rest of them.  
  
There’s a soft sniffle, and a long sigh. Is the Courier.. crying? He shifts uncomfortably, ready to head back and pretend like this didn’t happen.  
  
_“And how many times can a man turn his head_  
_and pretend that he just doesn’t see?”_  
  
The words cause something in his stomach to drop. He creeps just slightly closer, and quietly presses his back to the wall, almost able to feel the Courier on the other side.  
  
_“The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind,_  
_The answer is blowin’ in the wind…”_  
  
Boone hears the Courier take a loud gulp of air, followed by a shaky breath. Boone allows himself to slide down the wall, until he’s seated. Without really thinking about it, he reaches a hand into his pocket and withdraws his harmonica. Hardly uses it anymore. Not even sure why he still carries it. Only reason he learned was to pass the time while he was with the NCR, only kept doing it because Carla liked to listen. He holds it to his lips, feeling a small tug inside his chest as he does.  
  
_“Yes, and how many times must a man look up…”_  
  
He blows into it. Trying to match the tune. It’s slow enough. Simple enough. There’s a pause.  
  
_“…Before he can see the sky?_  
_Yes, and how many ears must one man have_  
_Before he can hear people cry?”_  
  
The music is shaky at first, but manages to steady out, lining up perfectly with the song. Boone closes his eyes and listens to the Courier’s voice gain strength.  
  
_“Yes, and how many deaths will it take till he knows_  
_that too many people have died?_  
_The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind_  
_The answer is blowin’ in the wind…”_


End file.
